Starts With
by ChasingRainbows90
Summary: Jac and Jonny fic
1. Chapter 1

**I'm sorry for any strange issues with paragraphing - I've tried to sort it out but it was typed on a train and went a bit haywire. I've had this fic idea for a while and it'll probably not be too many parts - I had hoped to get it all done by the standalone episode (7/1) but that isn't going to happen - but there are no spoilers here either. Hopefully this is ok as I think this part is a bit filler-y but I had no clue how to start it really.**

**For this I am sort of using Holby dates as it appears she's 37 weeks as of 7/1 (according to the CDH charity), so this fic is set around 2/12/13 (or around Fait Accompli)**

She sits in her office, eyes trained on the computer screen in front of her though in truth she has absolutely no idea what is actually there. She'd barely taken anything in beyond somehow managing to type in her username and password, earning her access to her e-mails, but what any of them actually said was a mystery. Instead her attention lies firmly at her rounded abdomen. She feels the baby wriggle within her, and a small smile dances on her lips. She runs her fingers lightly over the spot where she had last felt the punch of a limb, laughing as her daughter responds by flicking an arm out against the walls of her uterine home.

"I've not forgotten you're there," she speaks softly, but the truth is sometimes she finds herself doing things to stir her child, to cause her to make more definite movements. It is one of the few things she can do to try to reassure herself that her daughter is still well, still alive. She had, had a doppler but it had gone missing a week or so previously when Elliot had found her in a blind panic having been unable to locate the baby's heart - claiming that the baby had to have died because even a 'god damn midwife' can find fetal heartbeats. The kindly professor had ended up dragging her off to a side room where he'd comandeered a portable ultrasound machine and with ease had the room filled with the beat of the baby's heart. In the hours following that the child have given her hell, with kicks and jabs aimed at every organ she could reach, but the still slightly panicked mother had forgiven it.

A roll inside alerts her to the baby shifting position, and she groans slightly as she finds it altogether more uncomfortable than the previous one. Her daughter is seemingly running out of space, and yet it seems to the mother that her bump is perfectly massive, definitely enough room for one little person, and yet her daughter didn't seem to agree with this. At 31+6 weeks pregnant, it seems inconcievable that her abdomen could get any bigger, and yet with 8 weeks until she hit her due date - and 6 weeks until her induction - it seemed like it would have to happen or her daughter would be bursting free.

And there is absolutely no chance of that happening. Her daughter is gonna stay safely inside her womb until the date of the induction when she'll be forced in to world. It seems almost unfair to serve the child a hormonal eviction notice before she's ready to arrive, but there is no doubt that it for the best. Everything had been studied, every piece of research she could get hands on analysed to within an inch of it's life until she had been left in no doubt that what the multi disciplinary team had planned was indeed the best option.

It wasn't that she especially enjoyed pregnancy. Indeed the near permanent ache in her back, and the seemingly constant need to micturate was getting to be a real inconvienience to her and her desire to carry on exactly as she once had. And she is determined to that, as much as she struggles, she doesn't want to let on. She doesn't want anyone to think that she is any less capable because she is pregnant, but she has to admit that it is becoming harder to carry on. Her body seems to tire so much more easily, just getting from her car to Darwin is enough to leave her requiring a period of rest before she can get on with her day, but she tries to fight past it. Instead she forces her body to carry on, until she can legitimately find a reason to escape to her office - like now. The ward had been relatively settled, and she had completed everything that she had too leaving the more basic tasks to F1, and the nursing staff.

Not that she had gotten any work done though. She knew it was a known fact that these trips to her office, were so that she could rest but still she tried to pretend that it wasn't. Indeed she even knew that Elliot had asked the rest of the staff to leave her alone here as much as possible, so that he could guarantee she would at least have a short period of rest, but while she could get lost in thoughts of her daughter, her eyes would wander occasionally to the clock and once the time she'd decided was reasonable for e-mail checking had passed she would return out on to the ward, no matter how much her body protested.

She could've given up work soon. Indeed Guy had been sending her e-mails asking for her to go and discuss the matter with her and even Elliot had been dropping little hints, but she had no plans to take up leave. She couldn't imagine what she would do, sitting at her flat all day every day. She imagines that she'd end up being eaten alive by the thoughts of her daughter and the reality of what was to come, and she cannot handle that. At least here there is distraction. Her baby is never far from her thoughts, but she doesn't consume them so totally as she does when she's alone, when there is no escape from them.

Besides she might need the leave after. If her daughter makes it. It's such a big if though that she hasn't even broached the subject of starting her leave the day of her induction and from there waiting until she had more of an idea of what was going to happen. She was certain she'd want to stay with her daughter, there seemed to be little question of that in her mind and yet there was the niggling doubt of whether when it came to it, if she could actually do it.

She has absolutely no doubt in her mind that she loves her daughter, but to be a mother? That is something she isn't so certain about. She wants to do it, with every fibre of her being she wants her daughter to have everything that she never did but imbedded in each of those fibres is the damaged strains of DNA that came from 'that woman' and because of that the fear has crept in to her.

So she has kept it open. If she doesn't take leave, then if she has too, she can come back here. She can work and be distracted and she knows that her daughter won't be alone. Because her daughter has something she never did, a father who loves her more than life itself and she knows that he will sit by her side day and night for however long he has too.

But then if it comes to pass that their daughter should come home, she doesn't quite know what'll happen because he will want that same level of access and yet he had chosen not to have her house as his. And now he was shacked up with that other woman, and she would be damned if it was going to have any access to her precious daughter. And yet if she is here working, and he has been with their daughter, he will know the baby better than she even though it is within her body that the child has grown, it will be his love that she will know and not hers and at home when it is just them, and she has to do all the caring tasks, how will it work?

Her daughter wriggles again, and it's enough to stir her. She looks to her clock and feels her eyebrows raise as she notes that time, and how she has spent longer here than she had intended. With a sigh, she removes her hands from her bump and uses them as a lever against the chair and desk in order to heave herself to her feet.

Once her balance is gained, she tries to stifle a moan as the ache in her back comes to a head, evidently unimpressed with her having decided to move. She shakes her head slightly, as she places a hand to the spot which is giving her to most problems and arches out her spine, trying to get it to shift a little. When that seems to fail, she frowns and decides to just get on with it. Slowly she started to walk from her office, trying as hard as she could to control her waddling gait though she is slowly coming to realise that there is little point in doing so.

"You alright Jac?" before she has even reached the desk to check if anything needs doing she is accosted by the registrar who had been rather half heartedly flicking through a set of notes. Standing there, she could just make out two laughing voices, and with a shudder twigged that it was the two nurses probably hiding out in his office, and not working like they were supposed too.

"Just fine," but she cannot quite hide the wearied tone with which she answers. She isn't even sure just what the issue is, whether it's the fact that her body aches and there is nothing she can do about it, or because all she can hear is him being carefree and she wishes she could have that - or that he was there with her sharing in these problems she had. The registrar raised an eyebrow,.

"Are you sure?" she tries again, offering a very small smile, "you know I've been there, Jac" she adds softly. She isn't really one to discuss her pregnancy, it was something that in general she tried not to think about, but sometimes the situation warranted it. Slowly, Jac made her way to a free chair and settled herself down.

"It's just normal pregnancy stuff," she responds finally, not quite allowing herself to meet the registrars gaze. So little with her pregnancy seems normal, that it seems strange to say such a sentence. It seems cruel that with all these extra things she has to cope with, that still these other little normal problems have to plague her as well.

"You could always talk to him," the consultant raised her eyes and the comment, not wanting to take this path of conversation and yet she cannot quite see an escape route. For once her daughter isn't battering her bladder, so even that excuse is out.

"Talk to who?" She knows it's stupid to try to play ignorant but she tries it all at the same, "Guy knows what I want to do, and so does Elliot" the lie comes much more easily than it should just as every lie does. The registrar twists her lips together as she considers this answer, before she shakes her head.

"So that'll be why Elliot was just saying earlier that you need to start taking things more lightly and that you'll be needing to actually book your leave soon," the registrars voice is soft and that is almost harder to take, "Besides you know I meant Jonny" and so much for playing dumb too.

"Why would I talk to the nurse?" her voice is bitter as she says the words. Part of her wishes that she could talk to him, but talking has never been her strong point and chances are if she tried she end up faltering and failing. She had come close to being able to talk to him, but somehow something always seemed to stop her and she just didn't seem to be able to get passed that, "he seems perfectly content in the company of the sunshine princess"

"He's concerned about you" she scoffs at that, and a hand slips behind her back to press against her still aching spine. She can't help but wonder what her daughter is actually using it for to cause it to hurt this way, because surely it cannot simply be the extra weight she is carrying for it seems like she has been carrying it forever and it has only been in the two weeks or so that her back has gotten so bad.

"He's concerned about the baby," It seems to be the truth. The baby is lucky in that respect, from her father she has enough love to last her a lifetime. She had doubted him following the terrible diagnosis they had been given but now she knew, he had been thinking it would save the baby the pain of having to go through what she would, and she could understand that in a way but she also knew her daughter deserved a chance at life.

"And you too," Mo again shakes her head ever so slightly but for Jac, this makes little sense. Yes, she carries the baby and in that respect he cares because the baby is dependent on her but beyond that she doubts she matters to him at all. Too much has happened, and he has made it clear that he has given up on her.

"Not anymore," the words slip free before she has quite realised they'd made their way on to her tongue. She says them so quietly, and hates the sad admission. The registrar reaches over, and daringly pats her hand for the briefest of seconds before thinking better of continuing.

"You'll see," the registrar offers another smile, before standing up and walking in to one of the bays, leaving the consultant trying to consider what had just been said. Biting her lower lip slightly, she twisted her fingers together wishing she could unhear those words.


	2. Chapter 2

**This was written in uni, but I wanted to get it posted. I hope it's ok. **

The nurse settles himself down on a chair in the staff room, a mug of tea clutched in his hands due to coffee still being off limits on the ward. Some have tried to sneak the beverage in, drinking it while casting glances about the ward in case they were caught by the flame haired consultant, but he'd resisted. It was such a small thing to sacrifice for her, his caffeine fix. He was near certain her aversion to the smell was ceasing but still she had kept her the demand, and he didn't really see the point in questioning it. Not when drinking the drink caused the risk of making her ill, of making things even more difficult for her. There was so little that he could do, that this small thing seemed like a start.

"You're gonna have to talk to her at some point," his peaceful teabreak though was interrupted by the arrival of his best friend. It wouldn't surprise him if she'd been watching him, waiting to catch him alone. It seemed to him that over the last few weeks he has spent very little time alone, Bonnie has been a near constant presence and because of that he's neglected his friend more than he would care to admit.

"I'm sorry?" he tries to keep his voice level, but he's been expecting this conversation for some time, and has been trying to avoid it with all of his might. Perhaps that is why he has allowed Bonnie to be his second shadow, having her around means that conversations such as this are less likely to happen. But Bonnie is not working now. She's had to disappear off for some trust update session which he is certain she'd complained about though he cannot for the life of him remember what it's actually on.

"Y'know the woman whose carrying your child?" his friend takes a seat opposite him, not bothering to make herself a drink. Chances are this is not a proper break for her but rather she has slipped away while the ward is calm in order to do this,

"It might be an idea to talk to her" she adds taking in his rather confused expression, though he had managed a nod in response to her initial question.

"She won't talk to me," he protests a little weakly. In truth he has barely tried to get her to talk in weeks. He knows he should have done but the frustration he'd felt at trying to continue in his mission to break down her barriers had left him weakened. He was already struggling with the realities of the future, and he hadn't needed that as well and so he had taken the escape route and found comfort in the arms of Bonnie - who fulfilled a purpose even if she didn't quite hold his heart as the consultant did.

"Have you even tried?" his friend catches him out there, and he doesn't doubt she'd know the truth. Somehow she seems to know everything that is going on around them, a reminder to him that perhaps she is lonely and using this to fill her time. But it has to be said, she has somehow managed to get herself almost to the status of friend in the world of the consultant which is no mean feat but he has seen them talking and so much of him had wished he had been stood in his friends place.

"Well, no, I" he falters as he tries to let her know exactly what is going on inside of his head, when really he doesn't understand it at all himself.

"Well you're gonna have to start trying," somehow she manages to issue it as a command yet managing to keep her voice soft, understanding that this is not going to be easy for either of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, causing it to ruffle slightly, making him look all the younger.

"Don't you think I want too, but" again he pauses, trying to find exactly the right words. To describe the situation they are now in, without laying blame fully at anyone's door is more complicated than he'd initially thought. It's perhaps why Bonnie has the beliefs she does about the consultant. But with Mo, he has to be more careful but she understands more than most how they were both responsible in some ways for ending up at this point. He can't quite play the victim here, because he is not entirely innocent.

"But what Jonny?" his friend sounds tired, as though the strain of their situation is slowly getting to her too. Come to think about it the strained relations between them has changed the atmosphere on Darwin, but it is only now he can see it. Perhaps because his shadow causes him to laugh so often, he has been blinded to the truth. He drags his hand back through his hair, and frowns, "I know she's not the easiest person to talk to, but she needs you,"

"She needs me?" he repeats the words dumbly and his friend shakes her head.

"You are the only other person that understands what she's going through Jonny," his friend is gentle in the way she speaks to him,"I can try to talk with her and so can Elliot but we can't even imagine how she feels, but you, this is your baby too Jonny so you know" he looks away from his friend as he tries to consider it. It cannot be denied that Jac, for all that she is surrounded by people, is very much alone. He has seen her with her best friend, but even with him, he doubts she is as open as she could be - perhaps not wanting to burden him any more when he is still struggling over his wife's departure.

"I'm not sure she'd talk to me,"

"You have to try," his friend reaches over and gently pats his hand like she would a young child. She gives him a small smile, "I believe she is in her office if you want to catch her" she adds before she leaves him to finish his drink and contemplate whether he can bring himself to go in to her office, and try to have some sort of conversation.

* * *

He knocks on the door of her office but doesn't bother waiting for her to allow him to enter, instead he just walks straight in as he has done so many times before. He finds her sitting on her office chair, hands clasped over her abdomen and her eyes closed tightly. She barely even moves to acknowledge that someone has entered.

"Jac?" cautiously he says her name knowing that disturbing her could ultimately cause his destruction, but he's gotten this far and he has to at least try. Mo's words were running about his head, and he knew that they wouldn't stop until he had got this over with.

"Go away" she doesn't even open her eyes as she speaks, but he knows he cannot do so. That would be giving up and would only mean he has to repeat the experience. He steps further in to the room, and settles himself down on the sofa.

"How are you feeling?" he crosses his arms across his chest in the hopes of preventing the nervous movements of his fingers. She settles herself in to a more upright and opens her eyes and fixes him with a glare.

"What are you doing here?" she doesn't answer his question but instead speaks with an edge of annoyance. He presumes because he has disrupted her rest but he can't quite shake something in his head telling him that there is something more than that.

"I was worried about you," he speaks quietly but it is the truth. How can he not worry about her when she has started to look more fatigued, more strained as the weeks have gone on, nor has he been able to ignore the way her hand keeps sneaking to her spine which he presumes is giving her hell. Had the situation been different he could be massaging the ache, he could be helping to ease the pain and make things just that little bit easier.

"And yet this concern is only resurfacing now?" again that bitter edge to her voice and he could curse himself for letting things get this far. The fact that it seems that she had believed he didn't care about her anymore when that couldn't be further from the truth - he just can't cope any more with this situation between them. It's come so close to destroying him but even when he had tried she had not appreciated it or so it had seemed

"Not exactly," he whispers, turning away from her for a second, "I just, this, us it's been too hard Jac," he closes his eyes for a second, before he looks back up to her face, just quick enough to catch the flash of hurt that crosses her eyes.

"'Well it's been a barrel of laughs for me," she breathes hard as the last word slips from her mouth, and closes her eyes once again. He feels his heart leap in his chest as he watches her.

"Jac?" he questions softly.

"It's nothing," she says finally but the tone of her voice tells him otherwise. The tone of her voice leaves him breathless with fear.


	3. Chapter 3

**I can't believe it's nearly the standalone :-/ I hope this is ok.**

She forces her eyes open, glancing in the direction of the Scottish nurse, who is poised on the sofa ready to jump up and rush to her aid. He's like a coiled spring sitting there, and it almost forces a smile to her lips the sight of him. But having him here, in her office, is the last thing that she wants right now.

The pain, she refuses to refer to it as anything else, is not quite like anything she has experienced before and yet not so totally different to those Braxton hicks contractions which had been a real hindrance to her over the last two days. Not that they particularly hurt, but it was the strange sensation of her abdomen tightening for the briefest of moments before it relaxed that caused her to pause in whatever task she was doing until it had passed. But this, this had actually hurt. Not an excruciating agony like she assumed labour to be based on those women she'd heard screaming, but still definitely hurt. It wasn't unlike the cramps she had thankfully been free of for so many months, thanks to her baby girl, in terms of the pain level, perhaps slightly lesser if she was honest but still enough to have stolen her breath for a second.

"I'm not so sure," He looks so concerned sitting there, and she knows that if she gave him the chance he would dash out to the corridor and grab the nearest free wheelchair in order to rush her down to Maternity, but that she feels is most definitely not needed. She tries to avoid maternity as much as possible, the sound of babies crying lustily is a taunt given she is likely not to hear her daughter cry in that way, or at least not for some time. Nor can she face seeing those women, with tired eyes but rosy cheeks, walking with their partners from the hospital with a baby nestled within a car seat ready to explore the world for the first time. Instead she has ensured that all her antenatal appointments are held elsewhere, she'd even managed to persuade Mr T to send a sonographer over to the main radiography department so that she could avoid the more specialised obstetric and gynaecological scanning department – a place that now held too many memories for her.

"Well I am," the words come much more harshly than she had really intended them to be, but she just wants to be alone. Elliot, she knows, is currently in theatre with F1, while Mo is busy trying to keep control of the ward and she'd assumed Jonny would be doing his job – in fact she should probably order him to go and do it – which had meant that she could have a little downtime without anyone really noticing, or so she had thought.

"Jac," he tries again. She should have known that this would happen. She thinks back to that morning when she'd spoken to Mo out on Darwin, and curses herself for not having worked it out earlier. Of course the registrar would have tried to get him to talk to her. She seems to be somewhat invested in trying to sort the pair of them out, though she does wonder if that is perhaps to ensure her privileges as the child's honourary aunt.

"I am perfectly aware of what my name is, you do not have to keep reminding me," she glares at him once more. The registrar better not be around when she finally leaves this office, because right now there is a very high possibility that she would not be making it to the end of her shift alive – though that would rather muck up the already rather dreadful staffing situation on Darwin. Still she is annoyed that she has done this, and today of all days when she is not feeling 100% and doesn't need the added stress of having to deal with him, "and shouldn't you be working, given that is what we pay you to be here for"

"We need to talk, Ja" he starts to say her name but thinks better of it, and she sighs. Well at least he is taking some hints, but not the one she actually wants him too. In truth, she wishes she didn't want him to go. If things were perfect she would want him here with her, just the two of them together enjoying a quiet moment. Perhaps he would have slipped an arm around her shoulders and placed a kiss on the top of her head, maybe he'd even have rubbed at her still aching spine. But things weren't that way, and now all she wants is for him to leave her be, because having him around hurts. He has the whole new other life that doesn't really concern her, other than her daughter someone having to fit within it and without the involvement of It.

"That wasn't what you said a few weeks ago," the answer come quickly, almost too quickly. She remembers so much of the things he has said to her, in particular those things that have hurt her. It comes as something of a surprise how much his words seem to have the power to affect her, that he had given up trying to talk to her had stung more than she'd wanted to admit. Because while it was never a trait in him she'd loved, it hurt that he was going to give up trying.

"You don't know how frustrating it can be, trying to talk to you sometimes," but in truth she knows it far too well. Not letting people in is her method of protecting herself, only this time it has backfired and left her hurting all the more. Like always she had done the most damage.

"Just leave me alone, Jonny" she speaks quietly, hoping that a change in tact will make him get the hint. She just needs some alone time, to rest and sort out her back. She wonders absently whether she could perhaps slip in to the on-call room and stretch out fully but that bed isn't all the comfortable and that would raise suspicions. But still the thought of it gives her a little something.

"I just want to know how you're feeling," he sounds desperate as he says those words, "I need to know that you're alright" he adds.

"If I'm alright?" she says the words like they are foreign. So many people enquire after her, and she makes up the same old lie. Alright seems like such a strange term, she cannot remember the last time she had been alright. Perhaps in the weeks prior to that fateful scan, she had felt it for a moment, the knowledge that she would have her baby and that while they weren't together things didn't seem to be too terrible between her and Jonny. It seemed like perhaps things might be working out for her, that she might finally have a family, "You want to know if I'm alright? I have a back which I no longer remember not aching, a now non-existent waist line, I feel like I've not seen my feet in months and I cannot sleep for more than a few hours at a time because the baby seems to think my bladder is a squeeze toy – not to mention the fact that my daughter has a condition which means she's probably not going to grow up, probably never even going to leave this hospital – so what do you think – does that sound like I'm alright to you?" the words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them, an admission of her fear.

"Oh Jac," he leans forward ever so slightly and rests his head in his hands for a moment as though trying to work out where on earth he can go from here. He cannot reassure her, for he cannot fix this. There are no words to make it better.

"Just don't Jonny," she can't handle sympathy. For the most part she assumes it is false anyway but regardless she just cannot handle it. She swallows hard. Why couldn't he have just left her be, rather than leading her to a point where she had spoken those words aloud. She has avoided saying them, because saying them makes it all the more real. She knows it is not healthy to try to bury her head in the sand, but even with her head firmly buried the thoughts don't leave her head so it is hardly a successful endeavour but still she doesn't want to pull herself free.

"We can talk about this," but she can tell in his voice that hearing it has gotten to him too. He has been escaping the reality just as she has, only his escape seems to have given him something that she never could, a new reality.

"Because that'll make such a difference," they could talk until they have used every word in the English dictionary and it would not make this better, indeed they could speak for the rest of their lifetime and still have to face facts that their daughter had this condition. He turns his head slightly, still rested in his hands, though now he can at least see her.

"I don't know what to do," that quiet desperation is there once more, and she sees in him for the first time how lost he truly is. In the months that have passed since the scan, she has only once seen his emotions get the better of him, when for just a moment he had left her scared. Since then she had never seen him as anything less than strong. He was Jonny has she had always known him, well no not quite, in some ways he acted younger as he mucked around with It on the ward but for all intents and purposes little seemed to have changed with him. But then, she thinks, perhaps he sees the same in her, for that is her all over. Except in the quiet of her flat, that dark empty space that should soon have been filled with baby paraphernalia, that should have come alive with the sound of a newborn's cry.

"and you think I do?" her own fear fills the words. She has worked so hard to have control, and yet now she has none and it terrifies her. She doesn't know what to do, and there is no technique she can learn to help her. She fixes people for a living, and yet she cannot fix her daughter, nor can she fix the mess that she has made of her life.

And then the ache in her back reaches a crescendo and she feels the pain edged around, as the top of her abdomen goes hard before it treks downwards until it is all she can do to remember to keep breathing. And then it ebbs away, the muscles relax once more and the ache, while still present, is back to how it was. The pain was no worse than the time before, but the shock of it, stole her breathe once more and the reality that only 15 minutes had passed between the two pains, and that the one before that was only 30 minutes previously.

"You're not ok are you?" He speaks the obvious, and it is all she can do to prevent the tears from welling in her eyes as she shakes her head sadly.


	4. Chapter 4

**In terms of real practice, I am fairly sure this wouldn't really be allowed to happen but in the realms of fanfic / Holby I'm gonna go with it. As for the drug used, I may have gotten a few things wrong / taken a few liberties but I have tried to keep it as real as possible. Thank you to anyone reading this and I hope this part is ok :-) **

He can barely remember how they got down to maternity. He knows he managed to get hold of a wheelchair, and that he had been the one pushing it but for the life of him he cannot remember the journey. Nor does he remember her getting on to the bed in the delivery room, or seeing the bands placed around her now bare abdomen. All he remembers is the all-consuming terror he had felt when she had silently admitted that something was wrong.

And now he is sitting on a rather uncomfortable chair beside her bed, while she stares intently at the monitor by her side. The zig-zag line that monitors the baby's heartbeat tells them that she is, for now, doing fine which is confirmed by the steady noise that fills the room, while the lower line lies in wait for the next contraction to come, ready to monitor that as well.

But he is looking at her abdomen. It has been many weeks since he has seen it bare, and it amazes him how it has changed in that short period of time. Now it is lined ever so slightly from the way it has been stretched to accommodate their altogether too impatient child. Watching the skin, he thinks he can make out the movement of a limb, possibly trying to displace the probe that invades her privacy. As he sees it, he glances up to her face and sees for a moment the tiniest hint of a smile, a confirmation that it was indeed the baby moving.

In the back of his mind he registers the door opening, but it still comes as something of a surprise when he sees Mr Thompson appear next to the CTG machine, and looks at the print out sheet. Finally he turns to look at the couple.

"Well Ms Naylor, Mr Maconie, I wasn't expecting to see you quite so soon," he tries to some attempt at humour but it falls flat on the anxious parents to be, "Now I see you've been experiencing contractions, around every 15 minutes and Jean informs me that you are 50% effaced but not yet dilated and your waters are still intact, is that still correct?" the normally faltering consultant seems to have gotten a handle on his nerves in front of the red head as he speaks today. Evidently the seriousness of the situation is enough to do that too him.

"Yes," she answers softly, still not pulling her eyes away from the monitor.

"And you are absolutely certain of this?" the consultant asks gently, his gaze moving between the two as he speaks. She turns her head slightly to give him a glare.

"You don't think I would notice fluid gushing from my vagina?" she raises an eyebrow, a challenge to him to say anything more.

"Not everyone's waters break in that manner, it could be more of a trickle," he swallows hard, a sign of his nervousness returning but he forces himself to keep on track, "have you found that you have been leaking at all?" he asks the question and is met once again with a firm glare, and a look of abject horror at the fact he would even broach that question.

"I can assure you the amniotic sac has not ruptured," and this time he decides that it is best to leave it at that. Instead he nods his head, accepting the fact. He bites his lip for a second as he works out how best to say what comes next, because he is most definitely not looking forward to this.

"Now we've had a bit of a discussion, and we've decided that since your waters haven't ruptured and the contractions while still present have settled, that we'd like to do a fetal fibronectin to check your risk of entering pre-term labour, now .." he starts to continue his sentence but is cut off by the patient.

"I know what the test is," she has turned her attention back to the monitor, to watching the lines. It is almost hypnotic, staring down at it. The consultant looks up at the father to be and gives him a small smile, knowing that even if he doesn't understand, an explanation right now is unlikely to happen.

"And once we've had the result of that we'll know better how we need to proceed, but I have spoken to the neonatal intensive care unit and …" again he pauses as he tries to find the right words, but he knows there is no right way of saying this. No way to do it without causing upset to the pair of them, "unfortunately they currently do not have a free cot, so provided your waters don't break we are looking at a course of nifedipine in the hopes of stopping your labour for now, with the hopes that a bed becomes free or with the intent of you going to another hospital," he says it as quickly as he can and hopes that they were able to understand the words. It seems like a cruel twist of fate that on the day that baby Naylor would chose to make her arrival in to the world that NICU would be closed to new admissions though he had been told a bed should soon be available but there were no guarantees.

"If the nifedipine doesn't work though .." the nurse manages to speak first, though he isn't entirely sure how he manages it. His brain seems foggy and the world seems to be spinning around him at light speed. He glances at the mother of his child, but she doesn't seem to have moved at all. The consultant coughs slightly, as he considers the question.

"We just have to hope it gives us enough time to transfer her," he shakes his head slightly, "but we need to do the fetal fibronectin and get those results first and we'll go from there ok?" he tries to sound reassuring and brighter than he feels, but there is no way of easing this situation for them.

"Will I have to stay in?" her voice is small as finally she manages to speak. She hates the idea of having to stay in hospital, of being surrounded by round bellied women like herself, only unlike her they will get to hold their babies at the end of their labours and within days, perhaps hours, they will be taking them home.

"Well yes," the consultant answers, seemingly surprised by such a question when to him it was obvious that, that would be the case. The woman on the bed shakes her head slightly.

"I can't, I can't stay here," the words are desperate, torn from her throat before she can stop them and without even realising she was moving she finds herself facing Jonny, despite the fact it pulled the straps and the wires, dislodging the probes. She looks at him with wide, frightened eyes, a desperate plea though she doesn't know what for.

"Just let's see what the results say first, Jac, ok?" he speaks quietly, reaching out to push a strand of stray hair back behind her ear, "and we'll go from there".

Neither really knew how long it took to get the results back, other than the fact that one contraction came and went in that time. The gap between them definitely wasn't shortening which they both took to be a good sign, and the baby still seemed to be coping well but neither could push away the all-consuming terror that filled their minds. It seems like a lifetime has passed before Mr T finally comes back in to the room, and from the expression on his face they know before he even opens his mouth what he is going to say.

"The fetal fibronectin was positive," he says it before they can and watches as the two faces before him change in that instance. The realisation that their daughter has decided to arrive even earlier than was planned, and the knowledge of the extra risks that this caused, "so it seems that our best option is going to be delaying labour, which will hopefully allow a bed to become free or a transfer, and will give your little girl hopefully a little while longer inside," he offers them a small smile though there is little to smile about.

"I can't stay here," once more Jac's desperate plea as she realises how likely a reality this is. This hospital, and the nearby ward in which the tiniest babies live is potentially going to be her home for the next however many weeks or months and she cannot face that yet. She feels Jonny's hand squeeze herself but it isn't enough to stop her fears.

"We need to monitor you and the baby, and if the nifedipine doesn't work …" Mr Thompson tries to keep his voice calm as he speaks, but he sees in her eyes that she is unlikely to listen to reason. He cannot claim to understand what goes on inside of Jac Naylor's head but in his time as an obstetrician he has seen many things and he doubts anything would surprise him now – though with this patient he can never be quite certain of that.

"Then I'll come back in" she answers quickly, cutting him off slightly and placing a hand against her abdomen feeling her daughter punch against her.

"You can't monitor yourself Jac," he tries again, before looking at Jonny for some help but the Scot seems to be lost in this situation, "and I know you live alone and you'll be in no fit state to drive yourself,"

"I'm not an idiot, I can dial an ambulance," another quick retort as she tries to argue her case. She knows she should just accept that she has to stay here, but she can't. She knows it would be the best for her daughter, but then if her own stress levels are through the roof the cortisol she produces will not be good for the baby, "or do you think I am incapable of that?"

"Of course not, but I don't want you to be alone," he pulls in his lower lip, "I've spoken to Jean and she's assured me you can have a private room on antenatal, so you don't have to worry about sharing a bay with anyone but you'll have the midwives – and me – around if anything does happen"

"and that is meant to make me feel better is it?" she tenses slightly, as though expecting yet another contraction but nothing happens and she allows herself a small smile. Silently she pleads with her baby to just stay put for that little bit longer.

"Well yes" the consultant answers gently though he is somewhat used to this from her now.

"What about me?" the Scot finds his voice once more and Mr T startles and looks at him.

"It's not exactly protocol for the par" he stops himself from continuing realising he was about to say partner and that is not true in the case of this pair, "father to stay but I can try to talk to Jean, though the ward is heaving and for the other ladies …" he trails off hoping that the anxious father would understand that it is nothing personal.

"No, I mean what if I looked after Jac at home," he speaks softly as though not quite believing what he is saying, "I could take a sonicaid to check the baby, and if anything happens I can get her back here faster than if we had to phone for an ambulance – and I promise I'll bring her back tomorrow to be checked again"

"You'd stay with me?" she sounds surprised at that.

"Of course, if that would be alright" he looks up at the consultant. The idea of doing it seems crazy and yet he would do it for her.

"I'm not sure," the consultant seems at a loss for what to do before he sighs, "we'd need to do the loading dose here, and make sure things are settling so the earliest I would release you is 7pm, and you'd have to make sure she takes the maintenance doses on time, and presents back here tomorrow at the assessment unit"

"No problem," he answers, looking to Jac. The look of terror in her face is enough to break him, but she has the smallest of smiles as she realises that perhaps she has gotten her way.

"It's against protocol, but," he shakes his head, "if you are absolutely certain then I'll do the best that I can," in response the parents to be nod their heads.


	5. Chapter 5

**I hope this is ok. Hopefully tomorrow I'll upload two parts as I think parts 6&7 will kind of be two halves of a whole but are separate all the same. Thank you to anyone reading this :-)**

She sits, frowning at the monitor, hoping that it fails to register another contraction. She's so close now to the point where she can get out of here, and she cannot let anything happen. She thinks that things have settled, or maybe that is more hope but the last contraction was a while ago and while her back still aches nothing more has happened. She glances over at Jonny, who is looking down at his hands.

"How come you agreed to this?" she asks the question softly, not really knowing if she wants to hear the answer, but needing to hear it all the same. It surprises her that he'd even offered, given the state of their almost non-existent relationship it seemed bizarre he would volunteer to spend time alone with her, unless of course he was planning to invite It along – but she cannot imagine him doing something as stupid as that, though she also never imagined it would be him leaving behind a key.

"Because I want what's best for you," he answers easily, and looking up he gives her a small smile. He isn't totally certain he trusts that this is for the best, he'd rather she was here surrounded by the medical staff who could help her but he knows that she won't settle here, that it'll make things worse for her.

"But you've all but said you've given up with me?" she looks down at her abdomen, the toco still in place and the skin glistening from the gel that has been left behind when it's been moved to chase the wriggling unborn infant.

"I want to help," he doesn't answer what she'd asked, because he doesn't know how. He cannot explain his feelings to her, or how things came to be so instead he falls back on this. It's one of the few things that he knows to be true, he would do absolutely anything to help her.

"Don't you have plans – with Bonnie?" the way she says her name, betrays how she feels about the woman, but he tries to pretend that he doesn't notice. Instead he bites down on his lip as he thinks about the evening that would've been; chances are they would've watched TV before they ended up making out on the sofa in her flat and eventually they would've found themselves beneath the covers of her bed.

"Nothing important," he says finally, and that is the truth. There is nothing that he does with Bonnie that is more important than Jac and their daughter. He offers her another smile to confirm this, "You know that our baby is the most important thing in my life right now right?" he adds and he sees the light leave her eyes for a second as she hears those words before she recovers herself.

"She's lucky to have to you," she answers, and it is true that both 'shes' in his life are lucky to have him. She turns back away from him before he has time to register quite what she has said, her eyes fixed once more on those lines.

"Have you felt any more?" he switches the subject, not entirely knowing how to respond to what she had said. It's safer, and yet it isn't. The answer could swing both ways – yes and their daughter is on her way and yet there's no room at the inn or no and the two of them are staying together in close quarters until …. Until he doesn't know when.

"No," she answers almost instantaneously, not even bothering to look at him. He wishes he could believe her, yet he knows that in order to get her own way, she would lie regardless of the other evidence.

"You know Mr T will know if you have," he speaks softly, not wanting to accuse her but still needing to prepare her. He knew he shouldn't be doubting her but he had heard the desperation in her tone, and that had been enough to get to him. The brief second briefing showing of the real Jac beneath that tough cold façade she tried so hard to keep in place. It was that Jac he wished he could hold on too, and yet that Jac scares him.

"I'm not contracting," her voice is flat as she speaks, and yet he thinks she sounds exhausted too. Perhaps caused by his distrust in what she says, but it's so hard to trust someone who gives so little of herself. It's hard when he barely knows the real Jac, and yet he feels so much for her. Each time he gets close enough to her, it hurts all the more to let her go, to have her return to the woman who had captured his attention, and so much more and yet who cannot seem to drop her barriers.

"We'll get through this," tentatively he reaches out an arm, allowing it to hover over her back. In another world, he would have placed it down without question, gently massaging her to reassure her but this isn't that world and instead he hesitates. He doesn't know how she'll react to his touch, nor does he know how he'll handle it if she flinches away or pushes him off. It wouldn't be the first time she's done it, and he doubts it'll be the last, but right now he isn't sure he'd cope.

She fails to respond to him, and he closes his eyes; his arm still dangling in mid-air. He wishes he knew how to make that statement correct. If the medication works, it could stop the contractions for weeks, would that mean he has to stay with her during that time? One or two nights is a heck of a lot different to weeks together and yet hadn't that once been his plan. Only a few short months ago, he had suggested they live together in the run up to their daughter's birth but it had seemed like an entirely different prospect then, and yet really so little had changed – only the arrival of Bonnie had truly altered things. He allows his arm to drop away, falling back in to his lap.

He heard the door open and the sharp intake of her breath as she twigged who the only one person to enter the room would be. He turns slightly to see the consultant, who makes his way quickly towards the CTG monitor where he makes quick work of looking at the print out which has created a paper puddle on the floor.

"It looks like the nifed is doing it's job," the consultant says finally, looking up for the paper. The woman on the bed releases a deep breath, her body visibly relaxing. And yet for the father, it is with mixed emotion he hears the words. It's so good for their daughter, and yet it means the reality of them having to be together in close quarters is now looking definite, "You're not out of the woods yet, but if you still want to go home, and Jonny is willing then I will allow it," he tries to make it sound as though he'd rather her to stay but knowing all the while it wasn't going to happen.

"I'll be leaving" she rolls herself in to a sitting position, and starts to remove the belts from around her body, the sound of the heartbeat disappearing from the room as she pulls the toco from her abdomen. The obs consultant raises an eyebrow.

"I didn't mean for you …"

"I'm leaving," she cuts him off before he can continue to speak. She allows her top to fall back down over her bump, not caring that she'd get it covered with the gel. She wanted to get the bare skin off show, she hated the way people would stare at it when covered let alone when it was bared for all to see. And Jonny had all but ogled at it.

"I'll need to sort your discharge papers," the consultant works on freeing his readout and folding it neatly along the perforations. He sees the way she rolls her eyes, and fixes him with a glare.

"Couldn't you have done that before you came in," she wanted to get out of here now. Not that she wanted to have Jonny sleeping on her couch but she wanted to be in her own bed. She wanted to be away from this ward, this hospital. She wanted to be somewhere where she could talk to her daughter and beg her to stay put until she had a greater chance of making it in this world. She wanted to be able to curl up as tightly as she could manage to try to stop the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn't release them here in public, but in the privacy of her bedroom she could deal with them.

"I needed to make sure you were alright," he shakes his head slightly,

"And you can look at the CTG on the computers in the office," she answers almost instantly and he curses the fact that she knows so much more than the average patient. Of course she'd be aware of the package that allows them to view monitor readings remotely in the office as well as on the printouts.

"You might have changed your mind," he concludes finally, knowing that she never would have but never quite losing the hope. He'd had faith that perhaps the young man had managed to talk some sense in to her, but then he doubts she would have listened to him. He wasn't quite privy to all of the details of their relationship but it was one of those that he'd viewed from afar and which always caused a wave of sadness to run through him. Two people who needed each other so very much and yet didn't seemed to be completely blind to it – or if they did know they were in denial as to the fact.

"Are you actually an idiot?" She raises her eyebrows, and he swallows hard. It's hard not to let this woman get to you and he sees a flash of sympathy in the soon to be father's eyes.

"I'll go and sort that paperwork" he switches the subject, "If you change your mind, or anything happens press the bell," and as quickly as he can he disappears from the room leaving behind the parents to be. She shifts on the bed, freedom so close and yet so far. She desperately tries to resist placing a hand against her abdomen and feeling her baby beneath, not wanting him to want to touch or to see how much of a comfort this is too her, that she even needs the comfort.

"Where are we going?" he speaks quietly. He is near certain of her answer, and yet he has to hear it. It's been so long since he's been anywhere near her flat, the place that had nearly been his home too, and it feels strange to potentially be going back there.

"Well considering you live in a shoebox, it'll have to be mine won't it?" it's the Jac he knows from the ward talking, there is none of the women he'd seen earlier. The desperate women, the one who for a few moments had dropped her guard.

"I," he pauses. He'd started to speak without thinking and now he stops himself, "that seems for the best" he changes and smiles, hoping that she doesn't notice. She nods her head, looking at him for a moment before turning her attention to the door, ready to leave as soon as Mr T appears with her paperwork. He looks down at his hands, saying a silent prayer though for what he cannot be sure.


	6. Chapter 6

**I hope this is ok. My aim is to get the next part (7) posted tonight. Thank you to anyone reading / reviewing :-) **

The obstetric consultant somehow manages to supply discharge papers in what feels like record time, evidently fearing that she would end up storming the office and completing them herself should he take anything more than the time she allowed him. For Jonny, that meant that she was released in to his care far more quickly than he would have hoped. He didn't want anything to happen to his daughter – indeed the uncertainty of her future was enough to keep him awake at night – but the reality of the here and now was enough to cause a bead of panic to run through his veins.

They barely talk during the drive from the hospital to her flat. He had tried to persuade her to let him push her in a wheelchair down to the car park, but she had been adamant in her refusal. She'd already been a spectacle once today, having been taking down in a chair and she wasn't willing to repeat the experience. Not that anyone had actually seen her the first time, Elliot and Mo once they'd found out what was going on had subtly disappeared to save Jac being seen. So instead they had walked out. She started off forcing herself to stay a few steps ahead of him, leading him because that was her way only the effort of doing so had gotten to her more quickly than she had liked, and her pace slowed, and yet despite the slowness of the speed, he found himself hanging back to let her stay ahead.

She had frozen in the car park, and he'd panicked once more. The idea of having to rush her back inside to maternity, the medication which had seemed to be working suddenly not having the desired effect but as he had searched her face, he had seen no evidence of pain or fear. Instead she had shown worry for her car which was still here, and which he could imagine her suggesting she drives with him following behind. But somehow he had managed to get her to his car, and while she had wrinkled her nose, he was certain he'd seen a look of relief pass over her face as she'd settled herself in to the passenger seat. He cannot imagine how much harder it would be for her to manoeuvre herself in and out of her own car, the wheel must now come in to such close contact with the swell of her abdomen that it cannot be an easy feat. Still he can comfort himself with the fact that she can no longer use her motorcycle given his removal of her helmet. He isn't entirely sure he would put trying to ride it passed her even now.

And so the drive had passed. He'd glanced her way occasionally, to make sure that she was still doing alright and she had admonished him that he should be watching the road and not her. But he'd tried to watch her all the same, knowing that one hint of pain in her face and he'd turn the car in an instant. But she had remained so stoic during the journey.

Even now back at her flat they had barely talked. She had directed him wordlessly to sit on her sofa, while she had made her way to a chair, which had had to admit looked a lot harder and less comfortable than where he was now perched. He'd watched as she'd lowered herself down carefully, and closed her eyes for a second as she'd rested her head back. Sitting so close to her, it's hard to ignore the signs of her exhaustion, though perhaps it's because here she is not trying to be the consultant, to keep face on the ward.

And then she groaned slightly, and in his all too alert state he found himself springing even further forward towards her, only to find her fixing him with a glare of annoyance.

"What's wrong?" even with that look he had to ask, his mind already mentally preparing for the quickest route back to the hospital, and working out what if anything he needed to bring from here. At the very least he would be able to grab a bag for her, and the baby. She moved her arms so that her hands were pressed against the arms of her chair.

"The baby thinks my bladder is the most comfortable organ to use for a pillow," she answers, managing to push herself up in to a standing position. He forces himself to relax back a little, "and I have no intentions of her being born today, so stop getting so worked up," he watches as she waddles away from him, before he hears the click of the door closing shut behind her.

He turns his attention to her flat. So very little has changed since he was last here, and yet there is something so different about it. He casts his eyes around, noticing first how things seem to be less immaculate than before, though she was never what you would call house proud her house had always been clean to the point of being clinical, cold. It was not a home. There are things that seem out of place, that obviously haven't been returned to their rightful place. It also strikes him as he glances around there is little evidence of the coming child, he cannot spot a scan photo on display nor is there a baby book waiting to be filled in or a teddy bear or outfit that has been bought in preparation. Perhaps these things were lying in wait behind a door to the nursery. From here he can see the room that had once been her study, and he can imagine it freshly painted and decorated with a cot that their daughter won't use for a long while yet, for she'll sleep in a bassinet presumably at the side of her mother's bed once she has hopefully been released from the hospital, whenever that may be. Part of him itches to get up and sneak a peek behind that door, to see what changes she has made and how they would match up to his own ideals for his daughter's first room. Had they been together, he could have had input and helped to decide on the things they would buy. But he daren't look for fear that she will catch him, but perhaps later when she has fallen asleep.

She waddles back in to the room, and returns to the chair, her movements slow.

"Do you want me to get you something to eat, to drink?" he asks once she has gotten herself settled. Given that he is here, he should at least be looking after her and this seems like a good place to start. Pregnancy seems to have changed her relationship with food, and for that he was grateful. It meant that she was at least eating regularly, because the baby made her and that meant she was looking after herself all the more.

"No," she answers him quickly, hands rested palm down on her lap, under her bump. He frowns for a second, today must have been the longest he has seen her go without eating. In all of the time they had been on maternity, she had consumed nothing bar a few glasses of water, and before that even he could not recall seeing her eat anything. He has been keeping watch of her from afar, monitoring her as best he can but now he realises how much he has to have missed.

"You need to eat," he stretches out his legs. Mr T has entrusted him to look after her, but it is more than that. He owes it to Jac and their daughter to do his best here, no matter how he feels. He can do so very little and yet he has to make that count in so many ways.

"I'm well aware of that, nurse," her voice is acidic as she speaks those words, and he looks up sharply. He finds that she is looking down at the arm of her chair, not even paying him much attention as though she would rather pretend that he was not here. Perhaps by not looking at him, she can pretend that he is just a nurse.

"Then just have a little something," he shifts slightly, trying to get comfortable and failing, he sees the way she shakes her head ever so slightly, "for the baby Jac," he adds the words almost as a guilt measure and he sees the way she turns to look at him.

"I don't feel like eating right now," the words come so quietly, and he notes that even for Jac, she is looking especially pale. The stresses of the day catching up with her, combined with the exhaustion of being so very pregnant and the strain of knowing their daughter's diagnosis is doing nothing for her.

"Is there anything you do want?" He dreads to think the answers she could come up with. When Mo had been at this stage of her pregnancy, he had found himself summoned to do everything from foot and back massages to singing the entire score of Mary Poppins because they had been unable to locate the DVD or CD and she had been absolutely desperate to hear it – to the point where she had been near hysterical. He couldn't quite imagine Jac coming up with similar requests although he could quite imagine her getting the urge to castrate him without pain relief and becoming hysterical if he refused.

She shakes her head. He wishes he were a mind reader, it would make life with Jac a hundred times easier, and yet he is not certain it would improve his. Her mind, he is near certain, is a dark place and one which frightens him. He cannot imagine the twisted thoughts and memories that have combined to cause her to act as she does, and while he has always hoped she'd open up to him, to tread those paths with her is a terrifying act.

"I want to help you Jac," he repeats words from so many hours earlier, and he sees the flicker of something in her face as she thinks back. She draws in her lower lip, before she faces him once more.

"Can't you just be quiet?" again the words come harshly but he cannot be certain she intends them to be. He twists his lips.

"I just don't know what to do for the best," he is desperate. If she were back at the hospital, she would have a team of medics and midwives surrounding her, to make sure that she and the baby were ok for now. She would be well looked after, and he could relax just that little bit more knowing that if anything were to happen they were there. If she were back at the hospital, he doesn't know where he would be. He knows he wouldn't have been allowed to stay, and chances are she would not have allowed it anyway but what would he have done? Returned to Bonnie with his phone kept close at hand in case he had to dash back to the hospital, or would he have slept in the on-call room, or the sofa in Jac's office so that he could remain close. He isn't certain of the answer, and that worries him. But it doesn't matter now, for he is here with her, in her flat. This should have felt natural, and yet he is on edge. He doesn't know what to do anymore, because one wrong move and he could destroy all that he has left. And yet right now he has so little anyway. He has barely had contact with Jac, and as a result his unborn daughter, for so many weeks that he knows so little of her progress, of her habits and routines.

"Just sit, and wait" she answers, watching him, "that's what you've promised Mr T. You'll make sure I behave myself tonight and that the baby stays put, and tomorrow you'll take me in for an assessment and then we'll go back to the way things were," she adds the words and it causes a dart of hurt to run through him.

"And if I don't want things to go back to the way they were?" he says the words before he can stop himself. If he could change it he would. If they could become friendly like they had been for so many weeks. In those weeks, he had felt closer to her than he had for a lot of their relationship and it had felt so very natural, so normal. Things had seemed to be easy, the talk and banter and he had felt the spark of hope that perhaps things didn't always have to be difficult between them. But it had changed in an instant, just when progress had seemed to be made. And that had led them back to square one, and this.

"It's the way things are," the words come a little sadly and he knows that there is more to be said but he doesn't quite know how that is going to happen. She runs her hands through her hair and pushes a stray strand back behind her ear as he hears his ringtone blare out. With a sigh, he pulls his phone free and looks at the name on the caller ID. "Aren't you going to answer it?" he doesn't realise it was still ringing or that he had done nothing about it. With another sigh he presses the accept button, knowing that if he declines she'll just ring back in a few moments.

"Bonnie," he says her name quietly, like he can hide who he is speaking too. He tries to ignore the look that passes over Jac's face as he forces himself to concentrate on her words. He picks the words he uses to answer carefully.

"I'm going to bed," Jac speaks quietly and he watches her heave herself up before she moves away as quickly as she can manage. He tries to stay focussed on the phone call but he finds himself distracted, and relieved when she finally lets him go.

As he pushes his phone back in to his pocket, he thinks he should go and check on Jac but he cannot imagine she would appreciate him entering her bedroom, nor disturbing her sleep. Instead, he pulls himself in to a standing position and wanders in to her kitchen area thinking that he would fix himself a snack. Searching her cupboards, he is surprised to see how bare they are. A few quick fix meals are present but nothing that he would consider to be part of a staple or healthy diet. Even her fridge is fairly bare, with a bottle of milk that he thinks looks a little bit questionable. He sighs and gives up on the idea of food for now. He might have to ring Mo in a bit to get him some supplies in but for now he decides against it.

He glances down at his watch. It was probably a good thing given the hour was fast approaching 11 and he wasn't sure that Mo would appreciate his call, given she was working another long day tomorrow. He sighed and glanced about the space, his eyes catching sight of the study door. He cannot help but let curiousity get the better of him now that he is certain Jac won't catch him. He steps closer to the door, and reaches out a hand to open it. He feels himself holding his breath as he does so, before he pushes it gently.

Stepping further forward, he feels his heart sink. The room hasn't changed from before. The desk and her computer still dominate one wall, while overflowing bookshelves another. There is nothing to say that this room would soon become the sleeping space of a baby girl, the place in which her toys would be stored and which would one day become a little girl's bedroom – if her mother chose not to move in to house. He steps properly in to the room. He flicks his eyes around quickly, like the other rooms there is very little here which is personal to the consultant. There are no photos framed by her computer, or certificates on the walls. This room could belong to anyone, and yet he knows it to be hers. It saddens him how little of herself she has given even to her home.

He finds himself collapsing down in to her desk chair, his legs no longer wishing to hold him. He trusts that she loves their daughter, he's certain he has seen it in her face when she thinks nobody is looking and yet she seems to have done nothing to prepare for her. If he had been living here with her, he would have transformed this space with her help. He could imagine it, him slightly paint spattered and her teasing him, perhaps they would have ended up flicking it at each other as a joke only he would end up much more covered. They would have picked out soft toys that one day would comfort their little girl in the dark of the night, and would become her best friends in play. He would have bought story books to line up on a tiny bookshelf ready for the hours he would spend reading to her, and perhaps they would have invested in a rocking chair to rest under the window like the one he remembered in Granny's house. This was the room he had dreamed off for his daughter, though it would have existed within the family home he'd once hoped they'd share. Perhaps already there would be a small dog running about his feet, a Labrador like Gary who would be his daughter's protector – and the woman, the mother of his child, would be his wife. It was the dream that seemed to be forever slipping from his grasp when once it had seemed like a vision of his future.

He didn't notice his eyes closing, or the room disappearing around him in its current state. Instead he found himself lost in the dream world he created for himself until suddenly it was surrounded by storms, which ripped at the world until it was all but destroyed. Until all he could hear was the sound of sobbing though he couldn't work out from where it came.

And then he finds his eyes snapping open, the destroyed world slipping away along with the realisation that the sobs hadn't disappeared along with it and he felt every ounce of breath leave his body.


	7. Chapter 7

**While this part is shorter than part 6, for some reason it felt longer. Anyway I really hope this is ok. I'm hoping to get part 8 up tomorrow (and I have a feeling that may be quite a long one). Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this - as I really do appreciate it :-) I hope this part is ok. **

The moment she hears the name of the person phoning him, she has to get out of the room. It doesn't help that being this close to him, here, gives a feeling she cannot quite explain. The moment he had offered to stay with her so that she could get out of the hospital, she had felt it. She'd been grateful to him for giving her the way out – and yet so surprised that he had even offered. She couldn't explain why he had even done it, it just didn't seem to make sense and yet here they were.

But it wasn't right. He was here, and yet he wasn't here in the way that he was before. She was in the privacy of her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed while he was sitting on her sofa talking to his girlfriend. If she listened hard enough she would probably be able to hear what he was talking about, but she has absolutely no desire to do that. If she'd wanted to eavesdrop she could have stayed in the room with him, but she couldn't bear to hear him talking to her – just as she could barely stand to see them acting all lovey-dovey on the ward. It was too much, like the only way they could validate how they felt for each other was to demonstrate it for all and sundry.

She could understand it though. It was the type of woman who could give him exactly what he wanted. She was the type to want the 2.4 children, the house with roses around the door and the looping dog that would follow her around like a shadow – and the type who would get it too. She was the person who would bring sunshine in to his life, a ready smile for him at the door and a willing ear to listen to him talk. Conversation between the two of them would be rife and that was something that he seemed to value, and it was something that she so desperately struggled with.

He probably would have rathered that she was the mother of child. It probably should have been her – it – that was round and swollen with this child, awaiting her birth. They would spend hours snuggled together, his hands rested on the bare bump, feeling the movement of the baby inside. He would rub at her shoulders, and listen to her moans about the way that she was feeling. He'd probably even drive to the supermarket at strange hours of the night because she desperately fancied something to eat that she didn't have in. It was something she resisted, trying to convince herself that she didn't need it because the effort of driving herself was altogether too much. There were some nights though when that craving had been so intense, she had wished so badly that she could just call him, and have him bring it round until she had remembered that he wasn't hers to call.

He was her daughter's father. He belonged to their little girl, but not to her. If it had been for the baby, she would have called him. She thinks she would have called him. He was always supposed to be there for the birth, and she knew how much he wanted to be. But it had seemed strange, two adults who were barely talking to each other and yet he would be seeing her in such an intimate way. But he wasn't there for that, he was there to witness the arrival of his daughter in to this world and to be with her. No doubt as soon as that body slipped from within hers to this world, he would dash off to be by her side, staying with her whatever happened.

Perhaps then it was easier for him having her as the mother of the child – or of this child at least. There was no stress of what he would do post-delivery. He would run alongside the incubator as the baby was rushed to NICU while she was left to deliver the placenta and be examined before she could join her daughter. If it had been Bonnie on the delivery bed, he would have had the decision to make – stay with the woman he loves and support her, or to go with the baby he adored. She at the very least was saving him that.

And she was trying her best for him. She forced herself to swallow down the emotions that were rising in her throat. She wanted to be the best that she could be for their daughter, to prove herself. She can't imagine life without the movements inside of her, or the feeling that alights in her chest as her daughter shows how much of a fighter she is.

She should be asleep. It's been a long day and she's tired. She's more than tired, but no amount of sleep seems to cure that. Chances are as soon as her head hits the pillow, her eyes will drift shut and the darkness will consume her, but that doesn't mean that her mind switches off. If anything it torments her all the more in the sleeping hours, when she is much more powerless against it. She runs her hands over the swell of her abdomen once more.

"You need to be less impatient little one," she whispers the words in to the darkness, feeling a kick against her fingers, which brings the smallest of smiles to her lips, "Mummy needs you to stay in there just a few more weeks, so you can get stronger," it feels strange referring to herself as mummy. If anyone else were to do it, she would shoot them with a glare but from herself she cannot help but feel a warmth.

She stands slowly, shakily and makes her way to the chair next to her bed on which she had thrown her pyjamas that morning. A wave of nausea washes over her as she pulls the garments from the chair, and carries them in her arms but it disappears almost as quickly as it came. Silently she runs through the side effects of the drug in her head, and recalls that indeed nausea was one of them. She settles herself back on the edge of her bed, to change of out of trousers and in to her pyjama bottoms before she removes her top. She looks down at her swollen abdomen, and smiles as she watches the baby move through the skin, and then she covers it with her top and wraps her arms in a cradle across her daughter.

"I can't imagine you not being there," she talks quietly, but it doesn't matter the volume. She likes to believe her daughter can hear her regardless, though there are some things she wishes she wouldn't hear. It has frightened her the intensity of that feeling, the terror that one day she could wake up and her daughter will no longer be there. She knows that soon will come the day when her abdomen will be empty, and no longer can those movements reassure her of her daughter's wellbeing, she knows that she will regain the figure that has been distorted as the months have passed but it is more than that. It's the knowledge that from the moment she delivers her daughter in to this world, she loses control. She has to pass care over to medical professionals who she doesn't trust as much as she trusts herself – and yet when it comes to care of her own daughter she isn't even certain she can wholly trust herself. To know that one day she could receive a phone call to say that when she steps on to NICU next it will be to say goodbye to her little girl, and that her life has been cut short. She cannot imagine this world with her.

In the other room, she can hear movement. He's obviously gotten off the phone and is presumably wandering around. She hopes he doesn't delve too deeply in to her cupboards. The idea of him exploring her world in such a way, and how likely he is to judge her based on that, but she cannot go back out to him. It's easier to hide away in here and try to pretend that he isn't there, and yet it is near impossible to do so.

Her body reacts to his presence in a way she wishes it wouldn't. She could try to tell herself it's anyone else but him. That it's Elliot come to look after her, or Mo. Anyone but him. And yet he is the only one she can imagine being out there. Perhaps in truth it's because he is the only one she wants to be out there, and yet that hurts all the more.

If it were Elliot, he would be sitting with her, telling her stories that seem to last a lifetime and sharing with her sweets and chocolates even though she doesn't feel at all like eating. He would act like she imagines a father would act with their daughter. And Mo, she would know how it feels to be here, to hold within your body a new life and yet she also knows what it is to leave a hospital with empty arms when they should cradle that life. And while Mo's baby lives and is growing up somewhere away from here, still she has that slight understanding. But it is not those things that she wants. She wants the person who currently she is trying to ignore and avoid, because she doesn't want him like this, and yet to have him another way doesn't seem to work either.

But she cannot truly imagine anyone else being the father of this child – her child. She had come close before, with Joseph. But that had not been the right time, and she is not sure it would have been right for either of them. Still she remembered how once for a brief moment she had considered what it would be, to be pregnant with his child and though it hadn't been it had sparked the belief that perhaps one day she would be a mother.

And now she was here, and the child was Jonny's. She had once proclaimed that the last thing she wanted was a child with nurse DNA, and yet now that was the thing she wanted most in this world. Her wonderful daughter who was half his, and half hers. She wanted her child – his child – more than she had ever wanted anything and that frightened her so very much.

But she was destructive. She destroyed those things that were good in this world. And she was destroying her daughter just the same. Her daughter with her 50/50 chances of survival, who should have had everything ahead of her and yet because she – the cursed damaged one – was her mother, her future could be torn away. Only it wasn't just the baby girl who would be destroyed, the father – the man who had so much love already for the tiny girl – who be heartbroken by her death. Once more she would be destroying the man she had loved.

She felt the nausea build once more inside of her, and this time she couldn't contain it. On shaking legs, she managed to get herself to the bathroom where the small amount that was left in her stomach was brought up. She tried hard to fight her body's attempts at urging when there was nothing left to bring up but she couldn't stop it. She felt her abdominal muscles – weakened by pregnancy – ache at their use.

She is surprised that he has not heard and come running to her, but then he had grown quiet outside of her room and had perhaps fallen asleep. She wishes now that she had. She rocks back on her heels, thinking that her body is done now and she wraps her arms around herself, suddenly cold.

"We're going to be alright," she whispers to her daughter, voice trembling ever so slightly, "tomorrow we'll watch the sunrise over Holby, because I know you like that and then tomorrow night how about we go and see the switch on of the Christmas lights," the words come from nowhere. She can't remember the last time she would have seen a lights switch on, she can't remember ever going as a child and yet something in her wants to take her daughter. She smiles at the idea of it, next year she could be going along with a baby in her arms. Though the image that floats in to her mind shows not only herself holding the baby, but him by her side, his arm around them both. She tries to shake it away, knowing that is not how it would be.

The sickness rises in her again, and it's all she can do to bolt forward over the toilet bowl, but as she urges, she feels a slice of ice cold down the length of her spine as she realises her pyjamas bottoms feel damp. She shivers, and prays to a god she has never quite believed in that she has simply lost control of her bladder. But as she presses a hand to the wet patch, she feels a sob rise in her throat. She presses moves the finger to her nose, and her nostrils are assaulted – though she knows it truth it is not really that strong – but an altogether sweet smell, and then the sob is torn from her body.


	8. Chapter 8

**This part didn't quite go the way I was expecting so that'll probably become part of part 9. It's also shorter than I was expecting but that probably means part 9 is going to be quite long. Hopefully I will have that up at some point tomorrow. Thank you to anyone reading / reviewing. And I hope that this part is alright. **

He finds her sitting on the floor of her en-suite, arms wrapped around the swell of her bump and a quiet plea escaping her lips. He doubts she is even aware that she is doing so, but the sound of his footsteps obviously stir her slightly because she turns her face towards him, fixing wide scared eyes on his face.

"I'm wet," the words come as a strangled sob, and he blinks in confusion. Had she failed to make it to the toilet in time, and suffered a malfunction of her bladder? It is the first thing that comes to his mind and yet this seems to be something of an overreaction to that – but then this is Jac, and he can never quite predict how things will affect her.

"Do you need me to help you change?" the words sound stupid as he speaks them, and he almost expects to have his head bitten off in an instant. She swallows hard, and he sees the way her body shivers, how she desperately clutches at the roundness that has replaced her once slim abdomen.

"I'm leaking," she tries again, unable to formulate the words that she needs to say. She doesn't want to admit the truth because that will make this all the more real. This cannot be happening now, and yet now this has happened she cannot stop it. There is no turning back now, but that is all she wants to do. She wants to go back in time, to try to prevent this. She watches his face, and how he seems to fold in front of her. His knees giving way as he drops on to them by her side.

"Your waters?" he stutters the words, like he doesn't quite want to accept it. She can see in his face how much he longs for her to shake her head and tell him no, but she cannot do that. Instead she turns away from him, unable to bare that look in his face. She cannot help but feel that once more she has failed him, her inability to keep their daughter inside until medicine believed she would be ready. Already she had reduced her daughter's chance of life, and now she was lowering it further.

She nods her head without turning back to look at him, and he feels his heartbeat faster. This is the point of no return now, and every bit of knowledge that had been in his head seems to slip away. The waters breaking is the countdown, his baby girl's protective sac has split and the risk of infection to her increases. It means that soon he will be a father, that the baby he has loved will finally be here and he will be able to see her, perhaps even touch her within that sterile box she'll call home. His baby girl will become real, and with that comes the reality of her having to be stabilised, of doctors scheduling the surgery to be performed on her tiny body, of having to say hello and – though he dreads it – possibly goodbye.

"The hospital," the words come in to his head and are spoken before he has time to work out what he means, "We need to get you to the hospital," he manages the sentence and again he sees her nod her head. He wishes he could see her face, to try to understand what is going on with her. But now her sobs had ceased, as had the pleas she had been making.

"She's not ready," she whispers the words, and he isn't entirely sure they are meant for him to hear. He wishes he could say something to reassure her, but there are no words. Their daughter will be premature. He is certain Jac could quote statistics off the top of her head for babies born at this gestation but chances are those babies were not ones with the additional complications that would be affecting their little girl.

"I know," his response comes just as quietly as hers, and at that she turns back to him. He can see the way her eyes glisten from tears she is trying not to shed, her cheeks streaked with those that had already fallen, "but she's also decided that today is going to be her birthday,"

"It's only leaking," she bites her lower lip slightly, looking down at her hands, "if all the fluid isn't gone, they might still be able to delay, to give her a little extra time," there's desperation in her tone and he wishes he could nod and tell her it was going to be alright, that indeed they could go to Mr T and he would be able to make this better for them, but that feeling in his chest tells him otherwise.

"Jac," he says her name quietly and she shakes her head at him.

"They can do it, Jonny, women whose waters go too early and yet still carry their babies for weeks after," he can hear in her voice that she'll be arguing for this with Mr T, "I've not started contracting again," she adds it as though it'll bring him more to her side, and yet he cannot quite get on board with what she is saying. To him it seems that there daughter is wanting to be born, regardless of what her parents want – or indeed what is best for her.

"Jac, please," he doesn't want the false hope.

"We just have to get her to 34 weeks," she closes her eyes for a moment, trying to recall everything she has read about PPROM, "I can get the antibiotics to reduce the risk of infection and I'll monitor myself and the baby and if there's any signs of chorioamnionitis I'll be straight in to Mr Thompson," she opens her eyes, looking at him with those haunted eyes.

"We need to get you both checked out," it seems safer to go this route rather than refusing to listen to what she is asking or trying to argue against her. It is perhaps weak of him but he can leave it to Mr T to break it too her. She would be more likely to listen to the obstetric consultant than to him, he is surprised she hasn't thrown his job role back at him already so he doesn't want to push it any further.

"She only has to stay in there 2 more weeks," she is talking more to herself than to him. Perhaps she is talking to the baby as well, trying to convince the unborn child that the uterus is the safest place for her to be despite her insistence on leaving. She runs her fingers absently over the swell, relieved that as yet she has felt no contractions but fearing that they could start up once more.

"I'm going to ring Mr Thompson," Jonny rocks back slightly, and she swallows hard. Having to go in to the hospital makes this worse. Here in her bathroom she can convince herself that her plan would work, she is after all one of the most experienced consultants within the hospital and yet she knows that as soon as she is in that hospital, the gown placed on her body, that she has to give the control to somebody else. Her status will not be so readily recognised, instead he will for a short time outrank her.

She nods and watches as he pulls his mobile free from his pocket. She sees the way his mouth moves as he makes the phone call but try as she might she cannot make out the words that he says. Instead she tries to focus herself, tries to beg her daughter. She concentrates on creating a prescription chart in her mind, the one she will insist that Thompson will write up for her – or she will do it for herself if he refuses. So much is already against her, with the chances offered to her by nature that she is not willing to hand over a percentage more and that is why she will fight for things to go her way.

"He says to go right in," she hadn't even noticed him hang up his phone or replace it in to his pocket, but now he is standing and holding out his hands to pull her up. She looks at them, before choosing to ignore the offer and instead she heaves herself with difficult up from the floor. She doesn't want to have to need him, and yet she needs him so very much. If she's allowed home once more, chances are he'll have to spend so much more time sleeping on her sofa, or perhaps they would be better going to his shoebox flat, he did at the very least have a spare bed there, though it was a rickety old thing pushed in to a corner. She sees him glance down at her damp trousers and she flushes, suddenly conscious that she is dressed in such a way that does nothing to hide the changes to her figure.

"I need to change," she says the words unnecessarily and he nods, and without needing to be told her makes his way in to the front room to allow her the privacy.

Standing in the middle of that room, he fights against the urge to let a tear fall. His emotions seem to be catching up to him, the phone call with Mr T and the tone of the older man's voice had shaken him. But he doesn't want to give in. He doesn't want her to see him as weak when he needs to be strong for her. And yet he feels anything but strong. He hadn't felt this way since he was a child, since he had seen things that no child should witness and the helplessness that had followed. He had once told himself he would never allow himself to feel that way again, but now he has gone back on that promise. He can feel his body desperately trying to shake, and he forces himself to stand strong. He has fallen once today, and he cannot afford to do it again. He swallows back everything, but it lodges in his throat, blocking the passage of air. And then he hears her, and he turns to see her framed in the doorway of her bedroom.

He startles slightly. The fact she has pulled on a pair of scrubs threatens to break him. The way she seems to need to assert that she is still a doctor, a consultant. As though that will make all the difference, when he knows different. He knows that she cannot control this, and that their daughter is a bigger force than the pair of them – and indeed the medical professionals around them. He swallows hard but it does nothing to displace the lump of emotion.

"We'd best be on our way then," he tries to sound more confident than he feels, and she nods. Walking towards him, her fear evident and yet beneath it she seems to have that bravado that is forever present on the ward. The knowledge that she is right, and knows best, still present even now in this moment of panic. He cannot help but wonder how much of it is an act to get through this, and how much of it is the genuine belief that she can run the show. If he could make it happen for her, he would, to give her the chance of helping their daughter but like so many things all he can do is stand by and watch.


	9. Chapter 9

**I need to stop planning - because it's really not working. Everything I've planned is happening out of order. At the very least I do kind of have an end goal with this now. I hope this is ok and thank you for any reviews - I really do appreciate them. **

Somehow he manages to get her to the hospital in record time. He dreads to think how many speed restrictions he'd broken, or whether those lights he'd driven through actually had been green but all that mattered had been getting her here. And now he is stood, back pressed against the wall as Mr Thompson and Jean Remini – despite Jac's protests - try to talk to her like she is a reasonable person. So far since managing to get her in to maternity unit, Jac had refused to sit on the bed, insisting that there was no need for her to be treated like a patient. He is altogether surprised that she hasn't yet demanded her prescription chart, but he can see in her face she is gradually slipping closer to the edge.

"You're waters have broken, it's time to face facts," Mr Thompson too appears to be losing his calm. There couldn't really have been a worse match for Jac, than poor old Mr T when it came to consultant allocations and yet it also seemed to work for them in some strange way. Still though, he could imagine Mr T having some sleepless nights when he knew he was facing Jac the next day.

"But I'm not contracting," she has her hands rested under her bump, and is watching the two obstetric professionals carefully. Perhaps searching for signs of weakness she can use to bring them around to her way of thinking.

"Not yet, no," He is at least willing to agree with her there, but there is something that tells them it is only a matter of time. By his side, Jean shuffles, glancing towards the still silent monitor that she had wanted to hook Jac up too immediately – so that they could ensure no contractions came; not that she thought a red head could hide such an event

"And it was only leakage," she is still trying and the two professionals glance at each other.

"We've tried to delay labour, Jac, but" Mr T pauses in his sentence, weighing up the ways to continue the sentence while ensuring that he was able to leave the room with all of his body parts still firmly attached, and in their rightful place.

"Your daughter seems to be anxious to meet you," Jean takes over from him, looking away from the red haired consultant to the father to be. She tries to offer him a look of reassurance but it seems to cause him to shrink further back in to the wall. He has the face of a man lost.

"She's not ready," the midwife finds her attention drawn back to the soon to be mother, "and if you think I am handing control of my daughter's life over to a glorified nurse, you have another thing coming," the words are biting, as she fixes the pair with one of her best glares.

"Ms Naylor, we cannot fight nature," the midwife looks down at the ground, a look of sadness washing over her face for a second before she returns her gaze to the mother's face. It happens so quickly that she hopes nobody would notice.

"Nature is trying to kill her," the mother's response comes quickly as her hands grasp at the material of her scrub trousers, "and if you honestly think I won't fight that, you have another thing coming"

"Nobody is trying to say you aren't fighting for her," The scot finds his voice from his corner. She has spent so much of these past few months fighting for their daughter that he cannot imagine anyone denying that fact, but he is certain this is one battle she cannot win, that this time she is going to have to allow some other warriors in to her army of one.

"Then why are they not trying to help me," she doesn't turn to look at him, but he is somewhat glad for that. He can hear that desperation in her voice. The knowledge that nobody is willing to help her, and that as per usual she is on her own. Only she really isn't, there are so many people trying to help her, she is just unable to see it.

"Jac, we've tried to do things your way and while we hoped that it would work," Mr Thompson tries again, stepping closer to the woman before thinking better of it, "it seems that nature is going to take its course, and we need to be prepared for that,"

"If you're not going to do it, I'll self-prescribe," It's almost as though she is daring him and yet despite his nature, the obstetric consultant stands strong. He does not instantly bow to her pressure but instead he turns to look at Jean for a moment, another look passing between them.

"Ms Naylor, if your daughter is as determined as you, then nothing you – or I – can do is going to stop her arriving," Jean's voice is soft as she speaks.

"She's going be a tough one if she takes after her mother," Mr Thompson adds the words, but nobody really seems to take much notice of him.

"But if we don't try …" she trails off, before she turns on the consultant seemingly having suddenly registered what he had said, "Because what does it matter if she's as strong as me when not only is she a 32 weeker but a 32 weeker with a diaphragmatic hernia"

"We don't need reminding of her diagnosis, Jac," Mr Thompson speaks quietly.

"Then surely you know how much more important it is for her to stay inside as long as possible, for her to have the best chance once she's born," she fixes both of them with a glare, "you told me that she has a 50/50 chance of surviving delivery – but that figure, that wasn't based on her being born prematurely – 8 weeks prematurely - was it?"

"Well no," He has no choice but to concede that one.

"Can you honestly say that if she was born today, that she'd still have that 50/50 chance?" she asks the question, and the father to be visible baulks at the directness of it. He swallows hard, he'd known it in the back of his mind but he doesn't want to have to hear those words.

"The staff in NICU are very well placed to care for a 32 week infant, and will offer her every opportunity," he tries for this response, but almost instantly she raises her eyebrow and glares back at him.

"And that doesn't answer my question, I didn't ask you as to the skill of the neonatal staff – indeed if I had any doubts about these, I would not even be considering birthing my daughter in this hospital," she twists her lips together, and lowers her eyebrows, allowing them to furrow, "so I'll ask you again, if my daughter is born today, how does it affect her chances of survival?" her voice is low, softer than before but still it has that harsh, stern edge. He wishes he could switch off his hearing for just a moment.

"She will be more at risk," Mr Thompson speaks quietly, as though he doesn't want to say the words any more than they want to hear them. Looking at the consultant, he can almost hear her unasked question and he knows that he has to finish the sentence. He swallows hard, "of dying during birth or in the neonatal period"

"Then I see no argument as to why we shouldn't delay labour for as long as possible," She forces herself up from the chair, drawing her body up to her full height as though that would work as some sort of tactic. Only she finds herself wavering slightly, a strange feeling washing over her and causes her to stumble forward slightly.

"Well there's no room for arguments now," the consultant seems determined to state the obvious as he glances down at the puddle of amniotic fluid which has now welled on the floor at the red heads feet. She glances down at it herself, staring almost in disbelief at that fact this has happened.

"I'll go and get you a gown," the midwife sensing that it is altogether a good way of getting herself out of the room, grasps the opportunity and runs with it, disappearing from the room before any protest – or request for clean scrubs over a gown – can be made.

"No turning back now," The father to be steps forward from the wall, not entirely sure why but feeling that he has too. She doesn't even react, "You said earlier there were no beds in NICU?" the memory comes to him out of nowhere. He sees how Mr T lowers his head for a moment, before he looks back up at the father, and tries to force something vaguely like a smile on to his lips.

"There's a cot reserved for baby Naylor," he answers. It doesn't give away why there is suddenly a cot available, but there is no mistaking the look that had passed across his face. Its causes a stab of pain in the father's heart as he tries to imagine what has happened in the hours since they had left the hospital and now; the events that had led to a cot becoming available for their daughter.

"Esme," nobody quite catches it at first. The red head had spoken, and while her voice was heard they didn't quite work out what she had meant. The scot comes closer to her, moving himself so that he is stood in front of her, though being careful to avoid the puddle.

"I'm sorry?" she blinks, as though suddenly aware that she had even spoken.

"Esme," she says it again, no less softly but this time both Jonny and Mr T catch the word. The way she says the name is almost reverent, and the two men see the way she gently cradles her abdomen, the gentle smile on her lips that lasts for the briefest moment.

"Esme?" he questions again, not quite understanding and yet knowing all the same.

"Our daughter," and she closes her eyes, hands locking under the swell of her abdomen, almost in prayer and yet not quite, "and make sure they have that cot ready for her, because she is going to need it," and he hopes that she is right, that ownership of that cot will not pass to another because their little girl no longer needs one.

**In terms of spoilers / real Holby I've not used the name given to the baby in the show (though it is known) instead I've used the name I always planned for this fic. **


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